


Eostre I

by FrangipaniFlower



Series: Time and Tide [6]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Easter, F/M, Healing, Love, Post S6, Religion, a bathtub on a cold winter night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 02:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrangipaniFlower/pseuds/FrangipaniFlower
Summary: Still post S6, still NYC, a few months after Christmas. It’s Easter Saturday and Carrie wants to visit the Easter Vigil mass. Quinn goes with her to the church.And then there’s that bathtub back home...





	Eostre I

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few more days until S7. I‘m here and I‘ll keep writing. We are in this together and I am glad I found so many wonderful friends here.
> 
> Whatever Sunday might bring, there’s always our fics. 
> 
> I still have plenty stories to tell.
> 
> Hugs, Frangi

Carrie steps out of her daughter’s room, surprised to Latisha still hoovering around in the kitchen.

But before she can investigate she sees Quinn re-emerging from the basement with his jacket in his hand.

„So what‘s that about?“, she tilts her head, looking from Quinn back to Latisha.

„You wanted to g-go, and I thought maybe I‘d join you?“

Quinn can see it surprises her, maybe even makes her happy, and seeing Carrie happy always makes him feel better right away.

Since he started attending therapy regularly, and even more so since he began doing exercises at home, he‘s made a lot of progress, especially with his speech and his left arm.

Some things might never get back to a hundred percent, but _getting better_ is still an option.

He doesn’t know how he‘ll feel when hel reaches the ultimate peak of this but right now therapy provides stability and routine – both things he apparently needs.

„Peter asked me to stay longer tonight.“

„I see, there’s a whole plan going on“, Carrie smiles and raises her hands in a mock-defeat, „so that’s why I got storytime with Fran tonight?“

Quinn just shrugs and waits for her to get ready. Albeit it’s early April but it’s still cold outside, the last weekend brought some arctic winds from the eastern seaboard so she chooses a warm parka.

It’s not too far to the church and so they don’t take a cab but walk, both aware that this is a first, they never went anywhere together.

They arrive early and watch the cathedral‘s vestibule filling with people. 

Carrie worries if Quinn can cope with this, suddenly feeling overwhelmed herself. But they stay at the outer corner, Quinn monitoring the perimeter, nearly missing when Carrie‘s hand slips into his and gives him a gentle squeeze, and then one more.

The congregation enters the dark church, and it takes a while until all the lights and candles are lit, the church is quiet, just every once in a while the stillness gets broken by the priests‘ _Lumen Christi_ , answered with _Deo Gratias_.

They sit down in the last row, close to the exit, Carrie scoots in first, making sure Quinn sits next to the aisle.

She’s not surprised he doesn’t pray but he is standing next to her until she herself sits down.

Her hand slips into his again during the _Exsultet_ , and this time she keeps it there and doesn’t pull away.

She feels how the solemn quietness is surrounding her heart and calming her mind. 

She‘s been here before, only a few times, but she likes this church. It’s not one of the famous ones, neither big nor spectacular, just a normal church. During daytime the sunlight filters through the large window over the choir and decorates the floor with colorful squares and dancing rays of light. But right now, it’s dark, except for the candles casting their warm and flickering light.

„On this most holy night, we gather in vigil and prayer, in darkness and with light, for this is a pivotal moment. Right now, we stand in a liminal space – on a precipice between death and resurrection. It isn’t Easter yet, but Lent has drawn to a close. For a brief time, we are in between death and life.“

He knew words like these were to be expected so they don’t hit him by surprise.

But he feels Carrie‘s fingers tensing around his hand - and he thinks about what these words mean to her, and if their meaning has changed.

„Two women who did not run away, who remained steadfast, who faced life as it is and who knew the bitter taste of injustice. We see them there, before the tomb, filled with grief but equally incapable of accepting that things must always end this way. If we try to imagine this scene, we can see in the faces of those women.“

He thinks about leaving right now but Carrie’s hand is still in his and although he can see tears welling up in her eyes when he casts a side glance at her, she sits there calmly and listens.

„The faces of those women mirror many other faces too, including perhaps yours and mine. Like them, we can feel driven to keep walking and not resign ourselves to the fact that things have to end this way. We can picture their faces, pale and tearful. And their question: can love have truly died?“

Quinn stops listening when he sees a first tear rolling down on Carrie’s cheek. He leans in to whisper an offer to leave but Carrie shakes her head, and so they stay until the final _Go in peace, alleluia_.

Carrie feels the tears rolling down her cheeks - but it doesn’t bother her. It feels right. And it feels right that Quinn is here with her.

They finally walk out of the church, their hands still clasped together.

Outside, Carrie leads him away from the church, over the street and to the entrance of the small park there, before she stops and leans up to kiss his cheek and then the corner of his mouth.

„Let’s go home,“ she whispers against his mouth, knowing she can’t bear to be without him tonight.

Latisha leaves soon after they are back, and when Quinn steps into Carrie’s bedroom he finds the room empty, seeing the lights being switched on in her bathroom.

The water is running into the bathtub and Carrie is stepping out of her pants when he enters the room, leaving her standing in front of him in her underwear.

„Join me,“ she offers before she closes her arms around his neck and kisses him, parting her lips for him when he leans in, his good hand trailing down her spine, „it’s a good night for a bath.“

„Isn’t that one of the things which _sound_ like a great idea but are an absolute d-disaster in practice?“

Carrie hears the smile lacing his voice, his hand slipping into the back of her underwear betraying his words.

„I said _bath_ not _sex in the bathtub_.“

„You didn‘t?“ He squeezes her ass, a finger slipping between her buttocks, making it hard for her to focus.

She helps him to undress, her mouth trailing kisses along his chest when she unbuckles his belt, and there is just a brief moment of awkwardness when he has to take his ankle-brace off, suddenly feeling too exposed and too insecure in his movements, with his foot now weak and unsupported.

„You go first?“, Carrie asks, smiling and offering her hand, and then the moment is gone when he sinks into the warm water and feels it lapping around his shoulders.

Carrie slips between his knees, leans with her back against his chest, uses him as her human shelter, allowing the water and his arms to surround her when she closes her eyes and rests her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

„So, just a bath?“ he whispers against her ear, his lips gently touching her earlobe.

She sighs and adjusts her position, adding to the incredible visual he has, her breasts just half covered with water, her nipples just below the waterline, her legs slightly parted.

His hand slips around her breast, her skin feels supple and warm, and he massages her gently. Carrie reaches for a small bottle with an oily liquid and squeezes a generous amount into his open palm when he breaks away for a moment and offers it to her. He lathers her breasts, his fingers and palm gliding over smooth skin, and Carrie wiggles her ass against him, pleased with his reaction.

She reaches for his weaker arm and places that hand on her left breast, her hand on top of his to keep him there, closing his fingers for him.

„Open your legs for me,“ he whispers, his teeth grating along the shell of her ear, „and I‘ll show you what I had in mind.“

His hand slips between her legs when she does as she‘s told, caressing the inner side of her thighs, moving further until he feels soft wet curls.

Using two fingers to part her folds he starts massaging her hood with slow and firm circles, just the right way that makes her moan with desire. His hand and the warm water, his body holding her, knowing he‘s alive and here with her – Carrie rocks her hips forward, into his touch, but Quinn breathes a laugh and kisses her temple, his other arm slung around her hip now.

„Oh no, you stay right here. Not so fast.“

She’s already crazy with lust and longing but this time she lets him choose the pace, sinks into his embrace once more, enjoys his fingers slowly working her centre, longs for him to give her what she wants. But he keeps it fucking slow, enjoys having her squirming in his arms, indulges in seeing her body writhing under his touch in the warm water, and slowly presses himself against her ass, she is feeling him hard against her buttocks.

She exhales with relief when he finally starts circling her clit, two fingers, slow movements, and it’s so fucking good.

Her head lolls against Quinn’s shoulder, her left is back to holding his hand cupping her breast, and his voice his a charged whisper just above her ear.

“Touch the other one. You like this?”

Carrie feels him moving his hand so his thumb can reach her nipple as she starts kneading her other breast, and she arches her back, moaning his name.

She felt raw and vulnerable when they came home, words offering no measure for what she needs him to know. That she loves him and can’t lose him, and that this fear will never leave her again, that she sometimes wakes up at night and is convinced for a few horrible moments, her heart an empty void, that he is gone, that all of this has been a dream. That he died in that chamber. Or in the hospital.

Feeling his desire for her, his love, his devotion to please her brings her back, always. 

Quinn slips a finger inside her, careful and slow, knowing that the water takes away some of her own wetness. 

“Oh God, Quinn…”

“Not now, baby, but very soon. God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers in her ear, “I love seeing you. And you feel so fucking good. And when we’re done here I’ll have you. There can’t be enough of this. Never.”

His thumb starts rubbing her clit and she’s gone, her breathing rapid and shallow, her hand tensing around his, her hips jerking forward into his touch.

She’s engulfed, by him and the warm water, and cannot separate the sensations, it just adds to the pleasure, her skin caressed _everywhere_ , his voice in her ear, his fingers bringing and keeping her _there_ , not stopping, _please don’t stop_ , the bulk of his body steady in her back, _alive_ , his arm holding her, his lips pressed to the corner of her mouth when her orgasm jolts through her core, sweet and intense.

He keeps holding her until her breathing evens out, his lips on her temple just above her ear and she thinks she feels him whispering _I love you_.

His hand finds its way upwards, to her head and into her hair, and she could dissolve from pleasure when he washes her hair and massages her head with firm circles.

Afterwards she turns around and wraps her legs around his hips, facing him now. It takes a little back and forth, and some water spills over the edge to the floor, but then she’s sitting in his lap, _very_ close, smiling radiantly at him.

At the back of his mind a thought begins to form, but he won’t say it, _this is probably not what the priest meant when he preached about the renewal of baptism_ , and of course Carrie catches the hint of a smile on his face.

“No blasphemy here, Quinn”, she smiles, playfully splashing some water against bis chest, and then she leans in to kiss him, her hands reaching for the bottle with shower oil.

She keeps that kiss going as she lathers his body – chest, shoulders and his back. When her smooth hands work their way down his abdomen, under the waterline, she feels him hesitating for a fraction of a second and breaks the kiss.

His hand comes up to the nape of her neck, keeping her close, their foreheads touching now.

“What?”

“Carrie… I don’t think that’s a g-good idea. I d-don’t think I-“, it’s embarrassing, he thinks, and he’d rather not say it but-

Carrie feels her heart aching, these moments are always so fucking hard. But she know she has to try, over and over again, and that it’s progress that he’s talking to her about it.

“Shhh, don’t. As you said, bathtub overrated anyway. I just thought you might like this… for starters…”

And with that, she kisses him again, one of her hands sneaking further south, encircling him in the warm water, the other arm coming around his neck to pull herself closer.

And he has to admit that this is fucking good, her hands, the warm water surrounding them, her body pressed against him, their kisses getting more urgent, Carrie’s hand building a rhythm which is just a little bit too slow, and of course she knows that it’s not enough and enjoys teasing him.

He groans with frustration when she suddenly stops and pulls back, kissing him sweetly and chastely, and that makes her laugh. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she laughs against his mouth, and swiftly raises, her backside offering him a heartbreaking view.

Raising his right arm, he squeezes her ass appreciatively, making her squirm and laugh.

She walks over to her wardrobe to get towels, and Quinn uses the chance to get himself into a standing position, thinking he must look ridiculous, fighting for balance but his cock at the ready.

But then she’s back, still naked, offering him her arm to climb out of the tub, and once he’s standing next to her, she throws a towel around his shoulders and comes up on the tip of her toes to kiss him, her lips parted, her wet body feeling slippery and so tempting.

Somehow they manage the feat of toweling off while he’s leaning against the bathtub, Carrie standing between his knees, knowing exactly what she’s doing with her hand between his legs while he towels her dry.

He cups her ass to pull her close with a firm grip when he finally drops the towel to the floor and Carrie laughs against his mouth.

“Ready?”

“Fuck, yes,” he sighs, starting to knead her buttock, making Carrie gasp, “and you? M-more?”

“Mmmmh,” is what Carrie manages as an answer before she pivots out of his touch and walks over to the bedroom with a breathtaking swing of her hips.

Quinn closes the distance, glad she doesn’t see his leg limping, his ankle now unsupported, and loops his arm around her shoulders, catching her from behind.

She fits right under his chin, and the way her body molds into his makes him forget about all hid inhibitions.

The air is cooler than in the damp bathroom, and Carrie shivers involuntarily and feels her nipples tightening - but maybe that’s not the sudden chill but Quinn’s hand sneaking around her breast, brushing his thumb over the peak. 

“You said m-more,” his voice is just a hoarse whisper, somewhere above her ear, “and I want _more_.”

She feels his hand leaving her breast, trailing over her abdomen while he slowly starts pressing himself against her ass. He slips his hand between her legs to cup her, his other arm wound around her shoulders now, and stretches his fingers to extend his hand to its full size, making Carrie gasp because this is so fucking good.

She’s caught between the bulk of his body and his hand, and he uses her to please himself as much as he stimulates her.

Carrie loves this, surrendering herself to him, knowing that this is just about him and her and that they can just _be_ , and that he’ll take her now, finally taking something for himself too, and that she can give him what he’s craving. And she loves feeling his desire for her, his hips canting against her backside, his hardon between her buttocks and his quiet moans telling her how much he enjoys this.

“Bend over for me”, he finally exhales, letting her out of his grip with a regretful sigh.

Feeling an exciting tingle of heat surging between her legs, Carrie obeys, knowing that Quinn’s watching her as she is mounting the bed on her knees, curling her wet hair into a loose updo and then bending slowly forward, her breath unstable in anticipation.

 _Her movements are so fucking graceful_ , he thinks, his cock twitching when he steps closer, his eyes reverently watching Carrie offering herself to him.

He caresses her hips, her ass and her back, skims over her skin as the view takes his breath away, thinking of what he _could_ do and _will_ do, grates the tips of two fingers along her slit, feels if she’s yet wet enough, draws the wet fingertips over her back entrance, pleased when this makes Carrie shiver under his touch.

His hands close around her hips - one with iron grip, one weaker - and pulls her back, his knees against the mattress provide more than enough stability when he enters her, pulling her down to the hilt as he pushes into her.

Carrie cries out with relief, the sensation of him finally filling her feeling so satisfying, and surrenders to his pace, slow and deep, each stroke pushing her forward if his hands weren’t holding her in place.

Quinn looks down and watches himself thrusting into her, his hands holding her sweet ass - it’s an incredibly erotic visual and he feels a welcome tension building up at the base of his spine, knowing it will be mind-boggling.

This is Carrie, she never holds back, and knowing that she'd allow him to do anything he desired makes him lose his mind.

That – and hearing and seeing her, how she’s pushing back in countermotion to his thrusts, how he feels a sheen of sweat beneath his palms, and then there’s these whimpers…

Quinn feels his buttocks flexing, and after a few more thrusts, his right hand goes around her hip until he finds her clit. He pushes into her with short and fast strokes now, feeling her around him, and when he’s gone his vision fades to black for a moment or two.

He doesn’t move his fingers, just his palm covering her pussy is enough to make her fall into nowhere, the friction of his hand adding to the pleasure she’s yearning for. 

She loves hearing him unravel, each thrust now smacks his abdomen against her buttocks, his breathing ragged and rapid. When he comes with a long groan she feels him deep inside her, filling her with himself.

When he finally stills she feels his hand is leaving her to tenderly skim over her back. Sinking down on her shoulders, her cheek touching the cool bed sheet, she feels him pulling out of her, a last sweet moment sending another wave of pleasure through her. 

With his leg cramping and refusing any cooperation, he barely manages to fall next to Carrie when he collapses onto the bed.

It was too much, of course it was, but he can’t regret this.

“You ruin me,” he whispers with a half smile, reaching out for her to crawl into his embrace.

“Complaints?”

Carrie wraps her arms around him, their faces just inches apart, and looks at him, her gaze soul-searching as usual.

“No. No c-complaints.”

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, and when he closes his eyes Carrie feels tears welling up.

But he has her, pulls her in to lie with her head on his chest and holds her, knowing that the intensity of their love making - and the events of the evening - shook her as much as him.

After a while she calms down and reaches for the blanket, curling herself into the same position again, covering both of them with the soft cover. 

“When was the last time you went to church? When it wasn’t a funeral or a job I mean,” Carrie asks.

“A long time ago.”

Carrie waits, and he knows he has to offer more.

“Every Sunday. For a f-few years. When I was a kid. Then I was placed,” he pauses and exhales, “elsewhere and that stopped.”

“You could tell me,” she whispers, her fingers curling into his palm, “if you want to.”

He’s silent for a long time, caressing her shoulder, hoping she knows how much her simple offer means to him, even if he doesn’t have the words to answer.

Images come and go, past and present, memories he hasn’t revisited a very long time. 

“You k-know, when I w-woke up, and then the first months… I never knew what was r-real.”

“And now?”

“You are real. That much I know. And it’s g-getting better.”

“You‘ve come a long way, Quinn.”

“Yeah. But - but I need time to f-figure out what else… what is important and what is n-not. Is that okay?”

He feels her nodding and thinks that it’s not okay, that she deserves more.

“B-Baltimore. Nineteen Ninety Nine, I think,” he pauses for a beat, “I w-went to Saint Kevork in Aleppo once.”

It was a night in April, the first year after he left. Her birthday. He sat under the large dome in the severely damaged church, staring at the painting of Saint George slaying the dragon, and all he could think of was a Hydra, with nine heads growing when you cut of one. He knew then that it was too late, that there was no way back from war and destruction, at least not for him. 

_And yet here I am now._

After a while Carrie gets up and gathers some clothes for the night for them.

Quinn’s sitting on the bed when he pulls the t-shirt over his head, his legs stretched on the mattress.

“You need your foot brace?”, Carrie asks casually while slipping into her shirt and collecting the towels to dump them in a heap next to the laundry basket.

Quinn’s first impulse is to simply ignore her question, chances are she’ll get the message and not inquire further.

But then again – _it is what is_.

“I rather sleep without.”

She pauses for a fraction of a second but then keeps hovering around, cleaning the room from the evidence of their nightly adventures, and he knows she’ll cast a brief inquiring glance towards him when she thinks he’s not looking.

But then again she surprises him - and he thinks he should finally learn that this is what she does, and that it’s always been part of the fascination.

She sits down next to him, reaches for his leg - Quinn notices only then that he’s been rubbing mind-absently the straining muscles - and stretches his limbs by pulling his heel towards her and pressing his toes towards his shin, working against the shortening of the muscles and tendons.

He sighs with relief when her right hand goes under his calf and digs into the large muscle there. She knows that this is where he has painful strains, especially when he’s tired. Quinn’s sure she did that before because her movements are calm and efficient, she knows exactly how to apply the right amount of pressure to ease the pain which is his new normal at the end of the day. Today it’s worse - but he can’t regret this, given what _exercise_ caused that straining muscles in his left leg… 

Carrie keeps working his leg until he sinks back into the pillow with a content sigh, pulling Carrie to lie with him.

“That helped.”

“I know,” she answers simply.

“I f-figured.”

He thinks she’s done talking, maybe already asleep, but suddenly she tilts her head upwards to look at him again.

They meet for another kiss, soft and careful now, the intensity of their love making still vividly in their minds and souls.

„I did that often, back then,“ she admits, hesitantly, wondering if he’s okay with them talking about those weeks.

„I can’t remember. It’s,“ he rolls on his back, one arm still around her shoulder, „not _there_.“

„What’s the first thing you do remember?“

„I don’t know Carrie. There’s no, dunno, chr- fuck,“ he sighs but tries again, „chronological… whatever. It’s patchy. Hazy.“

_And there’s been pain. And her voice. Her presence in his room. Hands touching him. Darkness and more pain. Images, memories and reality fading in and out. Horror and destruction. Nothing made sense. And yet I‘m still here._

„Time as a s-sequence of events…,“ he pauses and searches for words, „came back, dunno, maybe in summer. Late summer. And sometimes I still mess it up.“

It’s more than he ever told her before about his inner landscape and his way back. 

He rolls on his side and finds himself in Carrie’s embrace, and after a brief kiss he scoots closer, the proximity offering comfort for both of them.

 

Drifting off, Carrie thinks about what Quinn said, and about the words the priest spoke earlier that night - death, loss, resurrection, love, grief and hope. She thinks about what brought them here and about what lies behind them. 

She thinks about that time between death and life. Liminal space. Darkness and light. 

And with her arms around Quinn‘s shoulders, his breathing warm against her skin, she finally drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear fic writing friends SNQA and Upon the Wire for your constant support. It’s so wonderful to have you to share early drafts and ideas. 
> 
> (Plus, they deal with my mistakes!)
> 
> And thank you dear Laure for helping me with this one here when I was a little stuck!
> 
> The words of the priest are not mine, I used several texts and sermons published in the www and books to create what I was looking for.
> 
> I always wanted to write something which deals with the religious symbolism of Homeland - so this was a first for me.
> 
> And of course there will be a 2nd chapter - Easter sunday with Franny.


End file.
